


The Wrong Luggage

by orphan_account



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Conversations, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6980635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec was so relieved to finally be getting out of the airport that he didn't even realise the bag he had taken wasn't his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Luggage

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't intending to write this, but then I saw a prompt about someone taking the wrong luggage and it just came to me. Oops.

Alec hated airports.

When he’d decided that gymnastics wasn’t just going to be a hobby, it was going to be a _career_ for as long as his body kept letting him do it, he hadn’t really thought about the travel. He’d focused on keeping his body in shape, honing his flexibility and his strength, and conquering his fears of heights and falling. He’d mastered working through the pain and pushing his body to his limits. He’d mastered dealing with shitty trainers and their ideas about what his body should look like and what it should do, and their complaints about how he was ‘too tall’ for gymnastics. He’d worked through every problem they’d thrown at him with steady, gritty determination.

But airports… airports were more of a nightmare than any of that could ever be.

See, Alec was a fighter. Not physically – he didn’t go around punching people or shouting abuse – but mentally. He dealt with difficult situations by fighting his way through them. That steadfast mental attitude was perfect for the world of gymnastics, and less perfect for an airport where one toe out of line or slightly sarcastic eyebrow raise could have you going through two hours of extra security checks because they were worried about him bombing the plane.

Alec didn’t think he was a particularly shady character, but he understood that at six feet tall with a fairly muscular build be wasn’t unintimidating. The tattoos all over his body probably didn’t help. Still, it sucked that airport security staff were so judgemental and stereotypical in who they picked for their ‘random security checks’.

The flying itself Alec didn’t mind. He tended to just stick in earphones and ignore the world for however long the journey took. But the hassle that went with them sometimes barely seemed worth it.

On this particular occasion, he’d arrived at the airport late (fucking Jace) and had to race through security – and, of course, the panicked expression on his face had drawn the attention of the security guards. Cue a full pat-down search and precious extra time wasted, leaving barely enough for him to make it to the plane before take-off.

Then on the flight itself, he’d been seated next to a man who had probably never heard of deodorant. He _stank_. Alec spent half his life in a gymnasium, sweating with a load of other guys as they attempted moves that tested the limits of their strength and flexibility. He was used to the smell of sweat. But this man – this man had offended even his normally hardy nose.

Having finally escaped the prison of a small plane and oppressive bodily odour, Alec had just wanted to get to his hotel and collapse. He had a few days to settle in and train before the competition. There was nothing to prevent him taking a lazy evening and just sleeping. But of course, the airport had anticipated his wishes, and decided to ‘accidentally’ send all the luggage from his plane to the wrong terminal. Cue a half-hour wait while the airport figured out what had happened – and then the endless monotony of watching luggage go round the baggage claim.

Alec’s eyes were barely staying open. He’d had enough. There was a pain in his temple that indicated a migraine was coming on. He still wasn’t sure where his hotel was, and he didn’t know if he had enough money for a taxi. Being an elite gymnast was amazing, but it wasn’t a lucrative profession unless you got the right sponsorship deals, and Alec wasn’t quite there yet.

Finally, he spotted a blue gym bag on the conveyor belt. Sighing in relief, Alec grabbed the handles and slung it over his back before making his way towards the exit. He couldn’t wait to get out of here.

With any luck, the hotel would have a decently-sized bath that he could just sink into and relax. Alec was sure he deserved it. And it would do his muscles some good if they were nicely relaxed for training tomorrow.

The hotel, it turned out, was barely a 15 minute walk from the airport. Alec took in the sights of yet another new city as he wound his way through the streets. The actual travelling for the competitions was hell, but he couldn’t deny that he loved getting to see so many new places – even if his rigorous training and competition schedule meant he couldn’t really explore them. He’d been to most countries in Europe, most states of the US, and half of Asia at this point, as well as some of South America and Australia. There was a competition in New Zealand in a few months that he was considering entering for just to build up his country collection.

Eventually, he reached the hotel and picked up his key, managing a weary smile for the receptionist. He made it as far as the bed in his room before collapsing with a groan.

What a day.

But he couldn’t relax for long with the artificial smell of airports (and that awful man’s BO) clinging to him, so with great effort Alec peeled himself off the bed and opened his bag to grab his shower gel.

To his surprise and horror, he was instead greeted by a collection of brightly-coloured frilly knickers.

“What the hell?” He actually explained out loud, before it hit him.

This wasn’t his bag. In his hurry, he’d picked up the wrong bag at baggage claim.

Fuck.

He checked the tags, and to his relief found a number attached to one. There was a name above it, but it was in such a messy scrawl that he couldn’t quite make it out.

Resigning himself to not having a relaxing evening in after all, Alec pulled out his phone and dialled.

/

By now, Magnus had a routine for airports.

Always arrive at least two hours early because something will always go wrong. Never make eye contact with any of the security guards. Always wear minimal eye makeup or passport control gets twitchy. Never spent £300 on perfume in duty-free and then test it all on the aeroplane, because someone will punch you, or worse.

He didn’t travel as much nowadays. He’d made his name as a fashion designer, and now he could send more junior members of his staff in his place without people getting too offended. He tended to languish in New York, throwing lavish parties and generally getting his name in the media. As long as his clothes kept looking good and his name kept them selling, it was enough.

But just occasionally, a gig would come along that was important enough to merit Magnus going himself. Which was why he’d found himself trapped in an uninspiring airport with poor air-conditioning because someone had sent his luggage to the wrong place.

He was supposed to be having dinner with a friend tonight, but at this rate he wasn’t even going to have time to get changed, and that just wouldn’t do. He couldn’t be seen in the same clothes he’d travelled in, especially not with them crinkled and smelling like airports (and someone’s BO – even in first class he’d been able to tell that someone in the plane had serious sweat problems). He knew he’d been photographed entering the airport back in New York. It would be a major faux pas for him to go out without a radical dress change now.

Still, Magnus supposed these things couldn’t be help. But next time, he was requisitioning a private jet, and fuck Ragnor complaining about the extravagance. It was worth it to avoid all this.

Finally, a sign above the baggage claim lit up with his flight number. Magnus stepped towards the conveyor belt. With any luck, his bags would appear first and he could get out of here and to the hotel in time to only be fashionably late to dinner.

Fifteen minutes later, Magnus admitted to himself that that just wasn’t happening.

He’d managed to locate three of his bags, but the fourth had just vanished. There were only a couple of lonely looking items waiting on the baggage claim, and a mournful looking woman whose face told Magnus that she, too, was waiting on an item that would never come.

Fuck it all, someone had stolen Magnus’s luggage.

Not just any of his luggage either – his lingerie and toiletry case. Some things were replaceable, but Magnus doubted he could find that particular range of underwear here. Some countries were just so _funny_ about men that preferred the feel of silk panties to uncomfortable cotton boxers.

Cursing under his breath, Magnus gestured to his aide to wheel the rest of his luggage out to the waiting chauffeur. He would just have to improvise. At least his dinner companion for the night was unlikely to be phased by him going commando.

He was halfway to the hotel when his phone rang.

Expecting it to be Catarina – although really, she should know better than to expect him to be on time – he answered it immediately.

“Catarina, darling, I’m afraid I was held up at the airport. I’ll be there in half an hour. Go ahead to order a bottle on my tab.”

There was silence on the end for a moment.

“Um… I’m not Catarina?”

Magnus nearly dropped the phone. No, that most definitely was not Catarina. In fact, Magnus didn’t recognise the voice. Although he wished he did, because it was deep and sent shivers down all the right places. Damn, that was a voice made for phone sex right there.

“My apologies.” Magnus practically purred. “What can I do for you?”

“I think I accidentally took your luggage. At the airport.”

Magnus blinked in surprise. Now this _was_ a turn of events. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to go commando after all. Although he had a pair of jeans that were just begging to be worn without underwear…

“The mystery luggage thief!”

“It was an accident!” The man protested.

“Well, luggage thief, I’m sure it was, but I don’t know your name and ‘luggage thief’ has a nice ring to it. Are you still in the area? I can come and relieve you of it.” It took all of Magnus’s willpower not to put undue emphasis on the word come. God, this man had a nice voice, even when he was frustrated.

“It’s Alec. And um, I’m at the Hotel Julien?”

Magnus leant forward to speak to his driver.

“Sorry, would you mind taking a detour via the Hotel Julien? I have to collect something.”

The driver didn’t ask any questions. Magnus decided he liked him.

“Excellent. I’m on my way. And I’m Magnus. Magnus Bane.”

“Great. I’ll be in the lobby. And um, sorry.”

Judging from the lack of response, Alec hadn’t heard of him. Or perhaps he was just too frazzled to recognise the name. He seemed a little – on edge.

Magnus wondered what the man would look like in person. His voice was all sex – but would the body live up to it? He sounded young – perhaps in his early twenties – but it was often hard to tell. If he was a middle aged man with a paunch, Magnus would be bitterly disappointed.

The driver pulled up at the hotel faster than Magnus expected. He gave a cursory look at the outside. Decent – Alec was hardly slumming it – but not five-star either. Still, he supposed most people making mid-week trips didn’t stay in five star hotels. Alec was probably here on business or something equally dull.

It was frustrating that he had to meet a man with such a voice in airport-smelling rumpled clothes, but Magnus knew better than anyone that appearance was more about confidence. That, he had in spades. Plastering a smirk on his face, he stepped out of the car with a murmur to his driver to wait.

/

Alec fidgeted awkwardly with his sleeve. He still couldn’t believe that he’d accidentally stolen someone’s luggage. On the phone, his face had been so red it probably could have fried an egg. But Magnus had seemed OK about it on the phone. Hopefully he would just take the bag, accept Alec’s apologies, and then they’d never see each other again. And Alec would never have to tell his siblings so they couldn’t tease him about it mercilessly.

He’d rung the airport after Magnus, and fortunately they still had his actual luggage. They’d offered to courier it to the hotel, so miracle upon miracles, Alec might get that relaxing bath after all. Not that he’d be able to relax after this mishap. He half expected to have nightmares about it through the weekend.

The hotel doors swung open – again, Alec hadn’t realised how busy hotel lobbys were – and his eyebrows shot up to the roots of his hair.

The guy who stepped through was _hot_. He was Asian, and probably similar in height to Alec himself, with artfully tousled black hair dyed green at the ends. He was dressed in a dark green suit that he pulled off _perfectly_ and that looked tailored to every line of his body. It showed off a lean figure that Alec wanted to run his tongue over. Alec had never seen anyone like him – but apparently it hit all of Alec’s buttons.

Of course this was the moment he’d see literal Adonis – when he was waiting to give someone back their luggage that _he had stolen_.

But instead of turning towards the desk, the man started to head towards Alec.

No. It couldn’t be.

Fuck.

But if this was _Magnus_ , then Alec had no chance. Because that luggage had been full of women’s underwear. Not that the guy had been likely to be gay anyway, and if he wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t have been interested in Alec. But this guy had to have a girlfriend, and that made him completely unattainable.

Plus, Alec had stolen his luggage. Which could never be a good way to get someone’s attention.

“Are you Alec?” The man called out as he approached.

Fuck. Now that he was closer Alec could see the way his green eyes twinkled, and the way his eyeliner made them stand out like beacons straight to Alec’s heart. This was a disaster.

“Yeah. Magnus? I’m so sorry-“

“It’s no bother, don’t worry about it.” The man waved his hands, before glancing Alec up and down in a very obvious once over.

Was he… he couldn’t be. Luggage owner had a girlfriend. He was straight.

He couldn’t be checking Alec out?

He must be imagining it. This day had definitely been long enough for him to start hallucinating things.

“Here.” He picked up the bag and held it out to Magnus.

“Ahh, thank you!” Magnus accepted it, setting it down by his feet. “I hope you didn’t misplace your own?”

Alec wasn’t entirely sure why Magnus wasn’t just leaving, but well, he wasn’t going to turn down the chance to (subtly) check him out. Perhaps the guy was just polite.

“It’s still at the airport. They’re sending it over.”

“Excellent. Although, it is a shame that the world will be deprived of the chance to see your naked body.”

Alec’s brain shut down.

Dimly, he was aware of Magnus smirking. “I have dinner reservations, so I really must be going. But Alec? Call me.”

Magnus left.

It was several minutes before Alec could breathe properly again.


End file.
